


Motion Sickness

by tokiidokii



Category: Classicaloid
Genre: DATING COMPOSERS IS HERE, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Vomiting, We're doing this man, We're making this happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8654413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokiidokii/pseuds/tokiidokii
Summary: Chopin wants to go out on a date with you. Like, /outside/ on a date. Unfortunately, the prospect is more than his anxiety can handle...





	

When dating someone as eccentric as Chopin, there was never a dull moment. His shut-in nature usually meant your time spent together strayed no further than the living room of the mansion, causing quite a few...close encounters with some of the strangest people you have ever met. Nice, but your boyfriend wasn't exaggerating when he said over the chat logs life at his place stressed him out sometimes. This living situation meant you two rarely had any alone time. For anyone else, going out on a date would have been the most obvious solution. Yet getting Chopin out of the mansion proceeded as one of the longest trust exercises you two had ever taken. The one time you convince him to come outside, he requested Liszt come with you. Liszt, while a wonderful person, is a terrible third wheel. Her obsession over love meant that she spent the whole night fawning over you two, making a scene, embarrassing Chopin. Not to mention the way he gravitated towards her when she was around for comfort...You weren't exactly jealous, but it defeated the purpose of trying to get away from the others.

Despite his poor people skills, Chopin picked up on this and apologized that night. He really liked you, he promised with teary eyes. You knew he meant it. But going outside without his anchor, Liszt, took far more effort than his anxiety could handle. Nevertheless, you came to accept that your relationship consisted solely of hanging out in the mansion.

Which is why you were quiet surprised one night when Chopin shyly mentioned out of the blue he wished to take you out on a date. All he asked was that you drive. Of course, you agreed. None of the classicaloids knew how to drive anyways, and Chopin was the last one anybody wanted on the road. (Well, other than maybe Mozart.) But could he really handle it?

Unfortunately, you came to the conclusion the answer was 'no' when you saw how out of sorts he was. For the past 20 minutes he's been sitting there...dead silent, face paling, forehead pressed against the glass. His hair obscures his eyes, making his expression hard to read. All you can tell as you glance over to the passenger's seat that he's incredibly wound up. Even if he is a quiet person, something is clearly wrong. He should at least be playing on his phone.

"Cho-chan?" You call, lilting your voice over the soft tones of the car radio. Judging by the way he jumps, he wasn't expecting you to speak. "Is everything alright?"

"Uhm...I..." You glance away from the road momentarily to sneak another look at him. It looks like he's trying to form words, but can't. "Feel sick..."

"Do I need to pull over?" Chopin only whimpers a little in response, and you're already looking for a good place to stop the car.

A tense minute passes. He's clearly trying his best not to throw up, but his breathing is erratic as he fights a losing battle with himself. Chopin's body lurches forward in his seat before you can pull over. He puts a thin hand over his mouth, desperate to stop himself. But his body refuses to listen, and he vomits into his lap with a painful sounding heave. It spills messily onto himself and the seat, all you can do is try cooing to him with little effect as he retches over and over.

After what feels like an eternity, you pull off on the side of the road.

"Cho-chan?" You try his nickname again, but he doesn't respond. Your hand reaches to touch his shoulder to comfort him and causes him to flinch. "It's just me. Are you okay?"

His face burns with embarrassment. "I'm s-sorry....I-I was so nervous that I...I...should g-go..."

As his sticky hands fumble with the belt buckle, it dawns on you he means to go home /by himself/. "Wait!" You look to the road to check for cars before you swing the door open and circle around to the other side. Chopin curls in on himself a little more once the passenger side is open, his one means for escape out of the awkward situation gone. "You seriously think I'm going to let you walk all the way home like that?" You're not surprised though, his normal solution for solving a difficult problem is simply 'run'.

"But...your car...a-and the date...."

"Shh. I know, and it's okay. You were trying your best." You bend down and pull out a few unused fast food napkins from the door. "Lets clean you up. Can I touch you?"

Chopin trembles and averts his eyes, but offers little resistance as you gently wipe around his face and his chin. It's the best you can do for now - he definitely needs a hot shower when you get home. You gingerly wipe off his hands next. His hands shake, whether from shame or exertion, you're not sure. Sighing and discarding the napkins on the floorboard, you pet the top of his head affectionately. He leans into it, just a little.

"U-uhm...could I step outside...?"

"Only if you promise not to run away on me." You say it like a joke, but with him it is a very real possibility.

"O-Okay...."

He maneuvers are surprisingly careful as you help him out of the seat, trying to dump the puddle in his lap outside of the car. Chopin wobbles on his feet. He clearly still doesn't feel well and still smelling heavily of puke isn't helping.

"Are you going to be sick again?" You ask as you clean the car, realizing he's thankfully too unsteady to get far on his own. Chopin only offers a noncommittal grunt in response.

Just as you finish cleaning whatever you can of your interior, the sound of gagging returns. Hands on his knees, back facing you, he vomits weakly into the grass. In an effort not to scare him, you approach muttering soft reassurances before gently putting your hand on his back. He tenses, but he allows the comforting touch as he starts to dry heave. It takes a couple minutes to stop. By the time he's done, the poor man looks exhausted. Still, you wait until he's ready, taking deep breaths to calm the anxiety settled in his belly.

"Can you take me home...?"

Of course, you gladly oblige. Chopin continues to shake as he gets into the car, although less so. He sits in the passenger's seat with his eyes closed and focused on his breathing. You crack the windows in an effort to get some fresh air circulating in the car and keep the fumes from making him further ill. By the time you pull up to Otawakan, he's fallen into a light doze. 

"We're home, baby." You shake his shoulder lightly and unbuckle yourself.

Chopin blinks himself awake, still a little bleary and weak. You carefully lead him inside, trying desperately to get him into the bathroom before anyone sees. If someone in the house were to mock him in this state there'd certainly be hell to pay. Thankfully the only person sitting in the living room at the moment was Sousuke. The boy looks up and opens his mouth to say something, but hastily closes it again when he sees the sorry state Chopin's in. He's unusually understanding of him - Sousuke views himself as a close friend of Chopin's, even when Chopin objects to this.

Once ushered into the bathroom, Chopin takes the longest, hottest shower of his life. You leave some fresh pajamas next to the sink and take his old clothes to wash as he showers, much to his embarrassment. Still, he looks like a different man by the time he reemerges, exhaustion taking on a much sleepier look in his features.

"Feel better?" You ask as he walks into his room and makes a beeline for the futon.

"Much..." He mutters, but there's a tiny smile on his face. It's too early to sleep under normal circumstances, but he's too tired to care as he curls himself up on the futon. "Uhm..."

"Everything okay?"

"If you wanted...you could...." His eyes dart from you to the futon as a light pink colors his cheeks. Understanding what Chopin wants to say but is too embarrassed to say it is a key part of your relationship, and you gladly oblige as you pull yourself under the comforter facing him. He laughs nervously, but there's still an edge of warmth to it.

Idly, your hand reaches out to feel his forehead for a possible fever. Chopin doesn't flinch this time, as he can easily see you approaching. His skin thankfully feels normal to the touch, but he still leans into you. Without even thinking about it you pull him a little closer and begin to pet his hair. It took a solid four months of Chopin gradually getting used to being around you in person to get to this point. Time well spent, certainly, as he starts to relax for the first time today.

"Well, you don't have a fever."

"I know...just anxious. I haven't been away from Liszt since I ran away from the agency...Back then, I-I'd get really sick right before performances...I threw up on my costume once and they yelled at me..." Your heart sinks a little. Poor Chopin is like a kicked puppy when he's upset, who could ever do that to him?

"You poor thing...I figured you'd be nervous, but I had no idea...I wish I'd had known."

"....I wanted to make you happy."

"Frederic, I can't be happy if you're not happy. Let alone puking you guts out on the side of the highway." You say with a chuckle. Chopin burns a little, whether in simple shame or embarrassment from the use of his first name, you're not sure. Slowly, your hand caresses his cheek as he forces himself to look into your gentle gaze. "We'll start smaller next time. But I don't mind staying in the mansion today, so get some rest. Okay?"

With a soft sigh, Chopin obeys and closes his eyes. Your hand returns to petting his head as he relaxes further and stays there until his breathing becomes deep and even. He's cute when he's asleep, because it's the only time he truly seems at ease.

You'll have to ask Liszt for tips on getting him to stay calm, you think as your mind slowly drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate titles for this fanfiction suggested by my friends who hate me: 'Bitch better pay the cleaning bill', 'Dirty Boy Has a Bad Ride', 'the reincarnation of classical composer Frederic Chopin fucking puking all over himself and your car'.


End file.
